by Beth Orsoff
Also plausible, but … just go with it, Samantha. I turned to my computer and pulled up my calendar. “Okay. When were you thinking?”
“Tonight,” he said, “if you’re available.”
I didn’t need to search my calendar. My only plans for tonight involved a frozen dinner and my DVR. “It’s after six.”
“How about seven?”
Seven? Was this a date? “Um, okay. Did you want to meet somewhere?”
“I was hoping you could swing by my office. I’m in Beverly Hills, not far from you.”
Seven o’clock in his office. Definitely not a date. Damn.
I called Jenna from the car.
“But I thought you didn’t want to date him,” she said.
“I don’t,” I replied.
“Then what’s the problem?”
What was the problem? “I thought he wanted to date me.”
“How do you know he doesn’t?”
The traffic light above me turned yellow, and I slammed on the brakes. I heard the squeal of tires behind me, but I didn’t glance in the rearview mirror. I didn’t need to see the other driver to know I was being cursed out. “Because he asked me to meet him at his office. If this were a date, we’d be meeting at a bar or a restaurant.”
She laughed. “Sometimes you are so naïve.”
“How is that naïve?”
“Have you never had sex on a desk before?”
I lowered my voice even though no one but Jenna could hear me. “No. Why? Have you?”
“Of course! I thought everyone had.”
Everyone but me, apparently. “Weren’t you worried about getting caught?”
“Yes, that’s what makes it so exciting.”
“But wouldn’t a bed be more comfortable?”
“Honestly, Sam, I sometimes wonder how we ever became friends.”
“Easy. I was the one holding your hair back while you were puking your guts up in the bushes outside Billy Rice’s house.”
She laughed again. “I forgot about that.”
I hadn’t, even though it was sixteen years ago. She’d spewed vomit all over my new shoes. I’d been pissed! They’d cost me three months’ worth of babysitting wages. But she’d offered to buy me a new pair, and we’d been BFFs ever since.
“Gotta go,” I said as I pulled into the parking garage beneath Jake’s building.
“Don’t forget to check out—” was all I heard before I lost the signal.
Chapter 22
Jake
The phone buzzed. “Samantha Haller’s here,” Caroline informed him.
“Send her in,” he replied.
He stood up, then quickly sat back down. He didn’t want to look too eager. That’s why he’d asked her to come to his office instead of suggesting they meet at a restaurant, which was how he ordinarily handled evening business meetings. He knew if he’d suggested dinner, she’d think it was a date, which it was, but he didn’t want to be rejected again. She couldn’t say no to an office meeting.
She was wearing what he considered to be “take me seriously” attire—knee-length skirt, matching jacket, silky blouse. She’d worn a similar outfit to yesterday’s breakfast meeting. Very different from the low-cut gown she’d worn to the wedding. And the polar opposite of the short black dress she, or her twin, had worn to Lux on Friday night.
He still wasn’t one hundred percent sure it hadn’t been her that evening, despite her protestations otherwise. Rita could’ve been wrong about them all going home after the strip club. Maybe they just hadn’t invited Rita. But why would Samantha lie about something so trivial? It didn’t make sense.
She was about to take a seat in front of his desk when he jumped up. “I think we’d be more comfortable on the couch.” She looked…disappointed. “Unless you’d rather stay here.”
“No, the couch is fine,” she said and moved to the sofa.
He sat in the chair across from her and held up George’s redlined agreement. “Item number one. In the third paragraph, about halfway down, it’s the”—he started counting the lines.
“May I?” she asked and reached for the papers in his hand. She skimmed through all five pages in under a minute. “These are fine,” she said. “Anything else?”
He hadn’t expected her to read it so quickly. It had taken him much longer. “Yes.” He jumped up from his seat and started pacing. He had to think fast. “I’d like you to walk me through all this.”
“Through the retainer agreement?” She seemed surprised.
“No. I mean yes. I mean the whole process.” Why was he always tongue-tied around her? He didn’t have this problem with anyone else. “I’ve never been through a divorce before. At least not as an adult.” Her eyebrows shot up and he felt obligated to explain. “My parents split up when I was ten.”
She nodded as if she heard that every day, which, considering her line of work, she probably did. He heard it often enough and he wasn’t a divorce attorney. She started by explaining each party’s rights and responsibilities under the retainer agreement, then moved on to the various motions each side would file. After a few minutes, he stopped listening. He didn’t care about the ins and outs of divorce law. He knew George had made whatever changes were necessary to the retainer agreement, and he was confident Samantha would protect Selena’s interests during the divorce. He just needed to know enough about the process to come up with an excuse to see her again.
Samantha was still talking when Caroline knocked on his office door. “If you don’t need me for anything, I thought I’d leave.”
“You can go.” In fact, he preferred it. He’d feel more comfortable knowing that he and Samantha were alone. Not that he had any intention of trying anything this evening. Considering their rocky beginning, it was much too soon. He’d mentally prepared himself to wait several dates before touching her again. But for some reason, she kept glancing over at his desk, and he couldn’t help but think about what they could be doing on that cool, hard surface.
He’d only had sex in the office once. He’d been working at the firm for two years when he’d been promoted from assistant to junior manager. He and a female partner had been negotiating a big deal all weekend, which they’d finally closed on Sunday night. She’d suggested they open a bottle of champagne to celebrate, and before he knew what was happening, she was down on her knees. One thing led to another, and they’d ended up on her desk.
It had only happened once, and he’d been so afraid of getting fired (she was the aggressor, but he was a willing participant) that he’d never mentioned it to anyone. It wasn’t until several years later that he’d found out he was merely one of many, and not even the first. Sleeping with this woman had become a rite of passage of sorts. She’d slept with all the male employees. Or at least she had until one of them, who turned out to be closeted gay, had complained and she’d been asked to leave. She’d opened her own firm and was now one of MM&J’s biggest competitors.
Jake glanced back at his desk. It had been a pleasurable experience even with someone he didn’t particularly like. He was sure it would be even more so this time with Samantha bent over beneath him. Then his penis jumped to attention, and he willed himself to dismiss the thought from his head.
He turned back to Samantha, concerned that she might’ve noticed the bulge in his pants, but he needn’t have been. She was deep in conversation with Caroline, her leg stretched out in front of her. “They look higher than they are because of my small feet.”
“What size?” Caroline asked.
“Six,” Samantha said.
“Wow, that is small. You make me feel like a giant in eight-and-a-halfs.”
Samantha shook her head. “No, you’re normal. I’m the one who’s not.”
Jake thought back to that night at Lux. Samantha’s twin had small feet too.
“Well, thanks for the tip,” Caroline said. “Good night.” Then she shut the door behind her, and they were alone again.
“Where were we?”
Jake asked.
“Bank statements,” Samantha said, tucking one small foot behind the other. “I’ll need copies of recent statements from all of Selena’s accounts. If you want to give me the name of her business manager, I’ll—”
“No need. Caroline can get them for you.”
She opened her mouth as if she was about to object, then closed it again and stood up. “Then I guess we’re done. Unless you have more questions?”
“No.” He shook his head and stood up too. “I’ll be in touch.”
He got what he wanted from the meeting—another legitimate excuse to see her again. And what he needed at this moment was a cold shower.
Chapter 23
Samantha
I stopped at the drugstore on my drive home. “Definitely not a date,” I said to Jenna as I roamed the aisles under overly bright fluorescent lights. I’d called her as soon as I’d stopped driving. “He was all business.”
“You sound disappointed,” she said.
I had to wait for the drugstore’s loudspeaker to click off—someone named Sara’s prescription was ready to be picked up—before I said, “It’s for the best.”
“Where are you?”
“Walgreens.”
“Run out of toilet paper again?”
She never let me live that down. I’d been working eighty hours a week for months and errands had taken a backseat to sleep. I didn’t see what the big deal was; facial tissues were the same, only softer. “Batteries,” I said as I grabbed a package of double As from the end-of-aisle display.
“For your vibrator?”
I thought about lying but decided on a lawyerly response instead. “I can neither confirm nor deny your spurious accusation.”
She laughed. “That’s a yes. Too bad. I really thought Jake was going to be the one.”
Me too.
Three days passed before I officially gave up on ever hearing from Jake again. I’d made the changes he’d requested to the retainer agreement and sent it back to him the next day. Two days later Caroline emailed me a signed copy along with Selena’s bank statements and a note saying Selena was on tour and would be hard to reach, but I could contact her if I had any questions or needed additional information.
“Not Jake,” I told Jenna as we sat at a table at Vino, a new wine bar in Beverly Hills halfway between her office and mine, “but her.”
“You’re reading into it,” she said, then pulled her phone out of her purse and snapped a photo of the two of us with goblets of red wine in our hands.
“Why do you have to do that?” Although the upside of her constantly snapping photos of us and uploading them to Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and Tumblr and whatever the newest, latest, greatest social networking site that she was a charter member of and I’d never heard of before meant that I was no longer camera shy.
“I don’t have to do it,” she replied, thumbing her keyboard with lightning speed. “I like doing it. Plus it’s good for business.”
She did have over a hundred thousand Twitter followers. And I only had three—her, my sister, and my assistant, Megan. But I’d never posted on my Twitter account, which Jenna had set up for me despite my protests that I would never use it, whereas Jenna posted to hers constantly. I just wished she wouldn’t tag me in her photos. I liked my privacy.
I stopped swirling my glass of Pinot. “And I’m not reading into it. Those were her exact words. You want to see it?” I pulled out my own phone and tapped on my inbox.
“No, I do not want to see it! Christ, Sam, why do you have to take everything so literally? If someone’s assistant sent me that message, I wouldn’t think it meant that their boss didn’t want to talk to me. I would just assume that it’s the assistant’s job to handle these things. And why are you still obsessing over him? Three days ago you swore you weren’t interested.”
She knew that was a lie. She just wanted me to admit it. “I’m not obsessing. I’m confused, that’s all. He said he’d be in touch. Not that Caroline would be in touch.”
She shook her head and downed a gulp of her cabernet. “You didn’t use your vibrator the other night, did you?”
I stared down into my glass so I could avoid eye contact. My vibrator was not a subject I was comfortable discussing, even with Jenna. “I couldn’t. I bought the wrong batteries.” I didn’t find out until I was naked and under the covers that my stupid vibrator took triple As, not double As.
She threw her head back and laughed so hard that people around us started to stare.
“Not funny,” I said through tight lips. And it had been even less funny that night. I’d been so frustrated I’d hurled the damn thing across the room, and not only did I now have a nonworking vibrator (even with the correct batteries, which I purchased the next day), but I had a penis-shaped dent in my bedroom wall. I couldn’t wait to have to explain that one to my handyman!
She stopped laughing long enough to blurt out, “It’s a sign,” before convulsing again.
“A sign of what? That I’m an idiot who can’t even buy the right batteries?”
She carefully wiped the tears from her eyes with the tips of her fingers so her mascara didn’t smear. “Stop saying that; you’re not an idiot. It’s a sign that you need a man, Sam, not a vibrator. A flesh-and-blood man.”
I agreed. I just didn’t know where to find one. The only one I’d met in the last eleven months that I had even the slightest interest in sleeping with had no interest in me. At least not the real me. No doubt if the Slutty Samantha he’d met at Lux last Friday had showed up at his office the other night, he would’ve called her. In fact, he probably would’ve bent her over his desk that night. Unfortunately it was me who he’d met with, so it was all work and no play.
Story of my life.
Chapter 24
Jake
“What do you mean, you sent her Selena’s bank statements?” He hadn’t intended to raise his voice; it happened involuntarily.
“Why are you yelling at me?” Caroline replied. Jake never yelled.
He returned his voice to normal but continued to pace in front of her desk. “You’re right. I apologize.”
“And I only did what you asked me to do,” she said.
He stopped pacing. “No. I asked you to get copies of Selena’s bank statements from her business manager. I never asked you to send them to Samantha.”
“But wasn’t I getting them for Samantha?”
The downside of having an uber-competent assistant—she was proactive. “Yes, but I didn’t want you to send them.”
“Why not?”
Because he wanted to send them himself. Or better yet, bring them to her in person. But that was not a conversation he was going to have with Caroline. “Never mind,” he said and returned to his office. He’d find some other excuse to see Samantha again.
But Caroline followed him. “What is going on with you?”
He turned his attention to his computer screen to avoid her inquisitive glare. “Nothing,” he said as he clicked on a random email.
“Not nothing. Something. What is it?”
“Work stress,” he said, typing a response to a message that could definitely have waited until Monday morning.
“You thrive on work stress. It’s oxygen to you. This is personal.”
He stopped typing and looked up. “Yes, Caroline, it’s personal.”
He thought she’d be offended, but instead she sat down on the edge of his guest chair and leaned in. “I knew it! This is because of what happened last weekend, isn’t it? It was a bad something.”
He leaned back in his chair and sighed. He normally appreciated Caroline’s persistence—it made her good at her job. But he normally didn’t allow his personal life to interfere with his work. Now the two were inextricably intertwined. “It’s Friday night, Caroline. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Yes, right here helping you.”
He sighed again. He knew she wasn’t going to relent until she got what she wa
nted. “Close my door.”
She jumped up and shut his office door, then returned to her seat. “Let me guess—Samantha Haller, right? Although…”
“Although what?” he asked.
“Although you didn’t meet her until Monday, so either it’s not her or my timing’s off.” He was still trying to come up with an answer when she said, “Wait, what are you not telling me?”
“What makes you think I’m not telling you something?”
“Because if you were being honest, you would’ve answered already.” She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. A few seconds later, she snapped to attention again. “You met her at the wedding, didn’t you?”
He didn’t know whether to believe it was her supposed second sight or a lucky guess, but it didn’t matter. This time he didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Because it’s none of your goddamn business,” he wanted to say but didn’t. Nor did he state the equally true: “I’m not sure if I met her at the wedding or at Lux the night before.” He was definitely not sharing that part of the story with Caroline. So he said, “I don’t know.”
She stared at him until he looked away. “You’re hiding something.”
He was beginning to think maybe she really did have psychic powers. Either that or he was losing his ability to lie to a woman’s face, which was equally bad. “It’s late. I’m going home.”
“No, you’re not.”
He glanced out his office window. It was dark outside, and all he could see were long lines of red and white lights creeping along Santa Monica Boulevard from Hollywood to the Westside. He didn’t relish the idea of joining the Friday night traffic. He’d grab dinner near the office before heading home.
“You’re right. Check your Zagat and tell me where I should eat tonight that’s within walking distance.” He was tired of all his usual restaurants.
“I don’t need to check my Zagat,” she said as she stood up. “I know exactly where you’re going.”
“Second sight?”